


partings

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [14]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Brotherly feels, Gen, Sportsfest 2018, some kind of magic au, twin feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: There’s nothing quite like the taste in the air when a late train’s just left and there have been so many people here, so many people with their mouths full of goodbyes, some they could not say, some they made a mess of saying, some they left behind like thisonigiri. They are survivors, this little band of Shinsuke’s. They have found a shrine to feast on more than prayers.Kita and Osamu at the platform, two minutes after the train pulls out.





	partings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sportsfest 2018 Bonus Round 1: Time and Place | [originally posted here](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/7464.html?thread=868136#cmt868136)

It’s only two minutes after the train pulls out, and all the crowd’s gone from the platform, that Shinsuke emerges from behind the magazine stand with a lantern in his hand.

On the bench, there’s an _onigiri_ someone left behind. It’s still wrapped up in plastic with a Lawson’s sticker on it. Atsumu had complained that packing was hungry work and he was _starving_ , and Shinsuke had told him to be patient, poured out the last of the tea to share. Osamu had made it that afternoon. The dusky flavour of _oolong_ and salt’s still darkening the back of Shinsuke’s throat.

Shinsuke stops to pick up the _onigiri_ and holds it up to the lantern. It’s a plain rice ball with _ume_ , nothing special, except for that unspoken farewell glowing faintly from the inside. Illuminated by his light, there’s a vein of longing that runs straight down the middle of the _onigiri_ and splits the pickled plum in two. This will satisfy Atsumu for the rest of the night. For Shinsuke, there is greater prey; he can smell it, a lingering emotion near the edge of the platform that makes all his senses tingle. There’s nothing quite like the taste in the air when a late train’s just left and there have been so many people here, so many people with their mouths full of goodbyes, some they could not say, some they made a mess of saying, some they left behind like this _onigiri_. They are survivors, this little band of Shinsuke’s. They have found a shrine to feast on more than prayers.

Shinsuke finds Osamu lurking where his lantern guides him. He’s sitting with his legs dangling over the tracks, hair streaked with sky and dust.

“I found this,” he says, and holds out his hand as Shinsuke comes up to him. There’s something in it that pulses like gold and ashes in the dark. Even from a distance, Shinsuke can tell how strong it is.

“I’ll trade you an _onigiri_ for it,” Shinsuke offers.

Osamu raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure Atsumu doesn’t want it?”

“You’re hungry too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. But he’s noisier about it.”

“I don’t play favourites based on noise,” says Shinsuke, and sits down next to Osamu, who takes the _onigiri_ from his hand. In its place, he presses a plastic spoon into Shinsuke’s palm. It is mostly smooth and a little sticky. It is still warm where Osamu has been holding it, round the handle.

Shinsuke closes all his fingers around it and brings it to his mouth.

The first thing he tastes is the tea. Ren is fond of gently poking fun at him for it, that it is always tea, with him, that he could pick a memory of the mildest _sencha_ from the mere whiff of a cup that once held a single leaf. This is _oolong_ and salt, achingly familiar, and beneath all that, the distinctive burnt sweetness of caramel pudding.

Shinsuke opens his eyes and looks at Osamu. He is sitting with the _onigiri_ still unwrapped in his lap, staring out at the tracks. He does not meet Shinsuke’s gaze.

“You didn’t find this one,” Shinsuke says. “It’s yours, isn’t it.”

Osamu shoots him a knowing look from the corner of his eye. He stretches his arms overhead, yawns, and glances back towards the magazine stand. Aran’s fronting the counter today, and Atsumu, probably, is somewhere at the back trying to sit on his luggage to close it.

“Well, I’d better go feed Atsumu before he leaves,” says Osamu, putting the _onigiri_ in his pocket.

“Wait,” Shinsuke murmurs. He takes the jacket from his shoulders, places it around Osamu’s. “It’s a cold night. Take this. And this too.”

He bites down on the half of the spoon that’s in his mouth and breaks the handle off with a decisive snap, careful to leave no trace of his own lips on it. It is all Osamu, all Osamu’s loves and considerations, little cruelties and things he took for granted, kindnesses bigger than Shinsuke can swallow, for they are not meant for him.

“Give it to Atsumu yourself,” Shinsuke says, quietly.

Osamu turns away so Shinsuke’s lantern cannot catch his face. He stands up, and leaves, his smile a fleeting thing that disappears in the wake of a future train.


End file.
